


Beautiful Agony

by poechild



Series: Prompts [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Ficlet, First Person, Gen, POV First Person, Pining Sherlock, Relapse, Sherlocks POV, post tsot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poechild/pseuds/poechild
Summary: After the wedding, Sherlock shoots up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [cutest-angel-in-heaven](http://cutest-angle-in-heaven.tumblr.com/) requested: "Johnlock: the sadness will always seep through the cracks of my mind, but at least I still have you."
> 
> [magnificenttragedysandwich](http://magnificenttragedysandwich.tumblr.com/) requested: "Johnlock: Beautiful agony."
> 
> \--
> 
> I put both of these prompts together, hit two birds with one stone. Not quote sure how I feel about this one, the first person POV threw me off a bit.

I can’t stand to watch him dance with her, and yet I can’t tear my eyes away. The visual is like taffy, pulling, pulling, pulling until it thins and snaps.

When the torture is enough, I turn away and walk. Walk, walk, walk until I can’t feel my feet underneath me.

I remember my coat, I forget my violin, my voice. I can’t speak. I don’t think I ever will.

Not without croaking and choking on my love, my loss, my pain.

My feet carry me past my home. His home. _Our_ home. It will always be our home. His scent, his entire presence still lives on in the single furnishing of the red armchair and the untouched blue bedroom upstairs.

Seeing them is repulsive. I need new. New sounds, new noises, a new life to live.

I don’t have a life. Not without him by my side.

His side is occupied by someone else, now. No longer myself. I am no longer his light, the center of his universe, the one he cares for.

Love is abhorrent, unstable, and false.

Love isn’t real.

He is my precious, my dearest, my love. Love isn’t real. I love him, and he does not love me. Love isn’t real.

She stole him away from me, and he went willingly.

I find myself in a new place. An old place. A familiar place.

Men and women and everyone else lie prone on the floor, unknowingly trusting each other for protection and safety.

Idiots. The lot of them.

I will become one of them, soon. I will lie prone, trusting I will not come to harm, trusting that the rush and the high will protect me.

Points, pain, sigh, elation.

Temporary.

I wait, wait, wait on the floor. Wait for the exhilaration that is all too familiar.

He will be disappointed, my precious, my dearest, my love. But he isn’t here to stop me.

I welcome the ecstasy like an old friend, lost to me for years.

It sneaks up behind me, grabbing me in its claws, and I succumb.

I missed you.

I missed your comfort. I missed your kiss. I missed your warm embrace.

I missed the beautiful agony of the rise and the inevitable fall, fall, falling to ground.

I die.

I am dead, and yet I still breathe. I don’t want to be anymore.

I don’t want to be suffering, I don’t want to be alive, I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to be alone.

I am tired. And I am alone.

I lay vulnerable, blanketed by my coat, my head pillowed on my dirtied scarf.

The sadness will always seep through the cracks of my mind, but at least I still have you. The rush, the high, the fall.

My precious, my dearest, my love.

**Author's Note:**

> [Reblog](http://softlygasping.tumblr.com/post/153719061675/cutest-angle-in-heaven-said-johnlock-the) on my [tumblr](http://softlygasping.tumblr.com/).


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